


Obstinacy

by garamonder



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Brothers, Ed Can Be A Moron, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Promised Day, edwin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garamonder/pseuds/garamonder
Summary: Ed's been in a funk lately, and Al thinks he knows why. Frankly, it's driving him crazy--you can lead an Ed to Winry, but you can't make him pour his heart out.





	Obstinacy

When Ed stalked into the room with red ears and a dark expression, Alphonse could hardly withhold his sigh. In many ways the world had become a simpler place following the Promised Day, but his brother remained a complex man—though Ed would surely insist he wasn’t, being a ‘linear thinker.’ Al was always tempted to remind him linear equations could still be fiendish, but Ed knew that damn well.

When first they’d returned to Resembool, Edward had made a habit of checking on Al every night before turning in. Though Al could by then mostly manage basic tasks unassisted, doing so tired him out. Al had often run out of steam near the end of the day and Ed hovered with a hypersensitivity to his brother’s discomfort that had been honed by years of interpreting it without the benefit of behavioral hints.

As his brother grew stronger the habit had become a different ritual of going over alchemy notes, one of the only things Al initially had energy for after long days of physical therapy at the hospital. Now it was a pleasant way for the brothers to wind down the day and served as a reminder that some things never changed.

Which, recently, had become the issue.

There hadn’t been any argument so far as Al was aware. Dinner had been totally civil, in part because of Ed’s reserve. That wasn’t uncharacteristic in itself; Ed typically operated on a spectrum that ranged from the hyperverbal to total reticence. But it had become somewhat prolonged, and that _was_ uncharacteristic.

Winry had noticed, and asked Al whether Ed wasn’t feeling well. Al said, not untruthfully, that Ed was probably sorting things out following the Promised Day. They both were, and both had different matters to unpack. Hohen—their _father’s_ sudden death with no farewell was seismic in of itself, and had undone much of whatever goodwill Ed had scraped together towards the end.

To Alphonse, it had seemed more like the sad end of a long poem.

At the same time, Ed was lucky his brother still lacked the strength to knock some sense into him the way Teacher would. Of all the things to lose sleep over, admitting that one and one made two was about the stupidest.

Frankly it was starting to drive Al up the wall. You could lead an Ed to Winry, but you couldn’t make him pour his heart out.

All she’d done tonight was wear a pretty new dress. It had been Alphonse’s first trip to town after returning home and they’d celebrated with an evening at the village square, which hosted music on summer evenings. Al had looked up at the colorful banners, while fiddlers played and people danced under bright stars, and felt as happy as he’d ever been.

Ed, conversely, seemed to be making a fruitless attempt at moderating some internal boiling point. The music and the dancers and the stars only served to agitate him, and it was never more evident than when Winry was nearby. He seemed annoyed by the young men wanting to dance with her, yet she’d asked him first and he’d demurred with a look at the ground. At least she hadn’t been offended. In some ways she was quite patient.

Al was sure it was patience. It wasn’t hard to see how she loved him.

It was not patiently that Ed stomped to the table and started looking for a note he’d misplaced. Normally his research was fairly well organized but the particular page evaded him until he was swearing a wrench-earning blue streak under his breath.

“Geez, brother. _I’m_ going to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“I can’t find the fu—stupid array I drew yesterday.”

“You said that array was worthless.”

“Yeah—but there was an _element_ to it I just thought about…” Ed threw up his hands and glared at his files.

Alphonse methodically began to stretch his arms and legs as he’d done every night since physical therapy. It helped reduce aches upon waking. He held his right arm across his face and peered above his elbow at Ed. “Maybe you should take a night off. We got back late.”

Ed huffed but didn’t argue, probably conscientious of Al’s energy.

After a moment, Al decided to go for it.

“That’s not what’s really bothering you anyway,” he said casually while bending his hand slightly at the wrist.

“The hell’re you talking about?”

“Will you just talk to Winry?”

“About…?” Ed let the question trail belligerently and Al dropped his hand.

“Really?” he said flatly. “Are you going to make me say it? Actually, maybe I should—since you’re not doing it. Should I pass her a note from you like we’re in grade school?”

Ed spluttered. “I don’t—don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Alphonse began to reach for his toes. He didn’t really need to see Ed’s face to imagine his expression, which suddenly seemed not far off from a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar—only with accompanying outrage.

“Don’t play dumb, brother,” Al admonished him. “You’ve never been good at it. Why can’t you just admit you love her?”

Ed was speechless, swaying in place. Al looked up and was surprised by the sudden flicker of vulnerability in his face, gone as quickly as it came. Anyone else might have thought they imagined it.

“…Brother?” Al prompted, not unkindly.

Ed made no response, but the blood drained somewhat from his face before flooding back again in force. For someone so carefully mulish about admitting any outward feeling, he was terribly expressive.

Eventually Alphonse went back to his routine, doing the stupid little alphabet exercise in which he had to roll his ankles to invisibly trace each letter. He wondered if his brother would walk away, but Ed only sat down in a chair at the table and made a halfhearted effort to find the missing array. A minute later, his hand dropped as if in mid-thought and he stared at the notched wooden surface.

Alphonse sat up finally and looked at him, half-turned away. Ed was red as he always was when embarrassed or indignant or…upset, and trying to hide it.

Why was something so simple as loving a girl who loved him back upsetting?

Not for the first time, Al wished he could crack his brother’s head open and have a look inside. Maybe Winry was way ahead of him with using her wrench to do the job. Ed told Al nearly everything but was ever stubborn when it came to discussing emotions.

Al himself had never had that problem, he reflected suddenly. When he’d been a suit of armor, body language had sketched only an incomplete picture of his feelings. In his desire to be understood, Al had turned to words. It wasn’t difficult for him to express himself because he’d been reliant on using it to guide others’ interactions with him. It was a strange little gift.

Edward, as in so many respects, had gone the opposite way.

One of those respects was physical pain. Alphonse had never wounded Ed by voicing aloud his suspicion—fear, rather—that Ed bore every pain he could out of guilt that Al couldn’t. He didn’t seek it out, but he absorbed it with a determination that bothered his brother.

He knew Ed, and he knew that particular dogged resolve was anchored in shame. Even though he’d slowly begun to unfurl in the company of all the friends and family he’d accidentally made, there was—as Al had even said—a lot still to unpack, and shame wasn’t easily jettisoned.

And now he was sitting at the table, and Alphonse saw clearly that all his brother’s frustration was directed at himself and his inability to just…bridge the gap. He just _could not_.

Ed had punished himself for so long, he didn’t know how to stop.

How had it gotten so bad? Unsettled, Al rested his elbows on his legs. His hands were getting stronger, he saw. The bones no longer looked as though they’d punch through his skin.

Ed wasn’t off the hook, of course. Much of the problem—maybe most—was just Ed’s natural obstinacy. He’d always been so _stubborn_ , and he’d apparently mistaken his love of poor Winry for milk.

When Alphonse looked again he saw that his brother had located the missing array with no relief at having found it.

It would be no good pressing him now. At least he’d forced Ed to acknowledge the problem by verbally airing the laundry. It’s not like that kind of thing existed in a vacuum; Al lived in this house too, _helloooo_.

“I mean,” Al said conversationally as if they had not left off, “it should come easy now after you’ve already kissed her.”

_That_ was enough to startle Ed into dropping his pen. Al was amused to see he was trying to relearn how to write with his right hand. “ _What_?”

“Don’t you remember?” Al grinned at his panicked face. “You two kissed on a dare.”

Ed sat briefly mystified before a shock of remembrance crossed his face like lightning. “I forgot that,” he said, almost awed. “What were we…six? Seven?”

“I guess. Right after you got all red and accused her of passing on cooties. She didn’t talk to you for two days.”

Al stretched his neck one side to the next and continued, “So, you know…don’t bring up cooties and the next time should go smoother.”

Though Ed turned resolutely back to his notes and a blush crept up his neck, some of the tension in his shoulders had eased. Al was even fairly sure he was grudgingly smiling.

In the days after, Ed was a little more relaxed. And when he finally bridged the gap Winry had been patient enough to keep open, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> idk I should be working on other things


End file.
